


Phantom Pain

by suprgrl1995



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Calvin Ball, Gen, Physical Pain, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, Trauma, mental trauma, phantom pains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suprgrl1995/pseuds/suprgrl1995
Summary: She never had phantom pains while she was on the moon. Then again, there was more to worry about.
Kudos: 7





	Phantom Pain

I was a firecracker, baby, with something to prove;

But now I gotta contend with the living blues.

I could've missed it, I never knew;

Chain reaction but you're holding the fuse.

-Die Young, Sylvan Esso

. . .

Page 121 of the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook shows and states how one should go about amputating one of their own limbs. Of course, that doesn't mean that you should go chopping off your buddy's leg with no problem- but Della Duck was in a situation where she wasn't going to chop her buddy's leg off for the fun of it. Oh no, her situation was much, much worse.

It was all a funny story -probably to someone other than her right now- what with the 20-something duck under the wreckage of her crashed spaceship. It became quickly evident that she couldn't get her leg out from what force she could give in her position. Della looked from the looming exhaust to a piece of metal, still hot from the crash.

"Oh phooey..." she grumbled to herself. In order for her to get home, she could either bite the bullet or amputate her own leg. Of course, being part of the Duck-McDuck family meant that, even if you bit the bullet, you better spit it right back out and laugh.

Taking the piece of metal in her hands (and dropping it for a moment because of how hot it still was), Della carefully tried to measure where she would cut. It would be easier to go above the knee, right? Wincing at a moment for the anticipated pain, Della once more mumbled, "This is gonna smart..."

. . .

In present day, at the wee hours of 12:13 in the morning, Della Duck woke up with a start. A pain worse than any she could imagine was surging from her left leg.

"Ssssweet Yen _sid_ , that smarts!" Della cursed as threw her covers off to figure out what was wrong with her leg. For a moment, she stared at the spot in shock. Despite the persistent feeling of her leg being crushed, nothing was there. Her leg was just... gone.

And that was when she remembered everything.

Della flinched -more from the pain than in her own recollection- before starting to work herself up. She gave a small, dismal look to her handmade prosthetic leg, and with a hard sigh she put it on. Della got off of her bed to make the short journey to the bathroom. Even with the prosthetic on, the pain did not subside any- Della all put flinched every time she put her weight on it.

McDuck manor was awfully quiet tonight. Usually you'd hear someone (Donald, of course) snoring, but tonight? Nothing. Dead silence. Della didn't pay much mind, easily making her way to the bathroom and opening up the medicine cabinet for the pain killers. Moving like she was sleepwalking, Della unscrewed the top of the medicine bottle, took out a pill, and swallowed it without so much a sip of water. Placing her hands on the sink, Della gave a small sigh as the pain from her no longer existent left leg subsided.

"What is _wrong_ with me?" Della asked herself. "I've never gotten phantom pains before."

Shaking her head, Della closed the medicine cabinet and looked up at the wrong time to see her own reflection stare back at her. Della stood frozen as she and her reflection just looked at each other.

Slowly, her reflection started to put on a nasty grin. "Maybe it's because you're weak." it taunted. "You're a bad mother, pilot, and now your poor planning is causing even _more_ trouble for you. What were you even thinking that night, Della? Only an idiot would leave her only children behind and cause a ten year rift between her loving brother and uncle."

"NO!" Della shouted before throwing a punch at the reflection. The glass from the mirror instantly shattered at the impact. When Della realized what she had done, she found herself once more in horror. Not knowing of what else to do, she backed out of the bathroom and quickly made her way back to bed.

Sleep did not come easy once her head hit the pillow again. When the first rays of light came through the window, Della rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. It didn't matter what direction she tossed and turned in, though. The phantom pain was gone but the overall feeling of something suddenly being missing remained. In a fit of frustration, Della got back up out of bed and started to make her way downstairs for breakfast.

Every step she took with her prosthetic seemed to mock her. By the time she got herself a bowl of cereal, Della almost looked like she was limping as she tried to avoid putting weight on the robotic leg. Finding herself a spot in the middle of Scrooge's comically large dining table, Della started to eat her breakfast in silence.

She didn't even notice Scrooge was eating too until he spoke up.

"Good morning Della." Scrooge greeted with a smile. "Did you sleep well last night?"

She flinched. "No," she admitted in a small voice, "Not really."

Knowing this, Scrooge gave a curious tilt of his head. "Is it something I could help you with, lass?"

If she thought that delaying her answer would stop Scrooge from looking at her suspiciously, Della was dead wrong. Before Scrooge could press further, Mrs Beakley entered the dining room.

"Sir, if I may have a word?" the British bird questioned- no, demanded. Della almost had to hide the sigh of relief she gave as Scrooge turned his attention to Beakley.

"What's the matter Beakley?"

"The mirror in one of the guest bathrooms is shattered." the housemaid informed him simply. "I'd suspect one of the kids, but it seems to have been deliberate. Unless my deductive reasoning skills are failing, I've come to the conclusion that someone came into the bathroom late at night, punched the mirror in rage, and managed to crack it."

"But who would do that?" Scrooge wondered.

Knowing exactly who did it, Della stood up so quickly that she almost moved the table. "I should check on the kids!" she loudly declared before hurrying out of the dining room, leaving half a bowl of cereal there. Scrooge gave a confused eyebrow raise while Beakley folded her arms in suspicion.

"I have only one guess." she told Scrooge with an eyebrow raise of her own.

. . .

"H-hey kids." Della carefully greeted as she walked up to Louie and Huey. "What'cha doing?"

"Hey Mom." Louie replied with a smile and half a wave. "We're playing Webby's version of football. Which means that at least one of us will probably die."

"Of fun!" Webby cheered in the background. From where they were, Della could almost make out that something was in Webby's hands. With an amused glimmer in her eye, she asked her kids,

"Was she carrying...?"

"Fireworks? Yep." Louie confirmed with a grin.

"They're used for when the winner reaches the goal post." Huey explained. "I think..."

"You think?" Della repeated in confusion.

"Webby likes to change the way we play _every time_ we play. At this point, calling it 'football' is a really horrible misnomer."

"It makes her happy though." Louie noted with a shrug.

"It does." Huey agreed, giving a resigned sigh.

Della gave a smile at her boys before starting to say something, but was cut off my the sound of Webby's surprised scream. The three of them gave each other a worried glance before running off to help Webby. What they saw made Della stop dead in her tracks.

One of Webby's fireworks had gone off prematurely, knocking over an empty wooden crate. The crate had fallen on Webby's leg. Webby herself seemed more annoyed at the situation than anything else- using her free leg to kick at the crate.

"Would you hold still?" Dewey demanded as he tried to get the crate off of her. "You're gonna knock something else over."

Huey and Louie ran over to help their brother get the crate off, but Della remained where she was. Sure, to the normal observer, it was just a minor scrape that Webby could easily walk away from. But to Della all she could see was herself. Trapped under the wreckage of her own ship, there was only one way out. Without any warning, Della let out a scream as a sharp pain shot through her body.

"Mom!" the boys (who had gotten Webby out, no problem) cried as Webby also declared, "Miss Duck!"

But Della couldn't hear them- the triggering feeling that her lost leg was being crushed felt far more real. Her mind moving too fast to truly think clearly, Della removed her prosthetic and sunk down to the ground- her hands covering the stub as if it were procuring blood.

She didn't know whose idea it was to lead her back to the mansion. When she regained some sense of reality again, Della found herself looking right into the eyes of Uncle Scrooge.

"Naw phooey." she mumbled to herself as she tried to look away from the older duck. Scrooge's gaze only hardened as he put both hands on his cane.

"So you've been having phantom pains, dearie?" he asked her, not sounding at all sympathetic.

"No...!" she immediately denied. But in seeing Scrooge's hard glare, she relented to admit, "Yeah. Okay, _m_ _aybe_ a little."

"And I assume the broken mirror was your doing as well?"

"Yes sir..."

Scrooge straightened a bit more- Della well knew that the sign meant she was about to get an earful.

"Della Duck," he started, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you can't just go off the handle whenever you feel like it! So what if you're getting phantom pains now after all these years? You almost scared the children, for goodness sake! If you're having such a hard time with you lost leg, then...!"

"This isn't just about my leg!" Della shouted, surprising herself for a moment.

"Then what _is_ it about, Della?" Scrooge demanded right back, slamming the bottom of his cane against the floor.

For this, Della quickly racked her brain for an answer. "I..." she faltered, "I don't know!" Tears started to well down as she finally admitted, "I don't _know_ Uncle Scrooge! Maybe... Maybe I thought that once I got back everything would be normal again. Like, like _our_ kind of normal. But... but it's _not_! The boys are eleven, and I know _nothing_ about them! And... and Webby? She's adorable, but is she _actually_ the forth triplet or am I really just missing an in-joke?! And I just can't... I don't _know_ what to do Uncle Scrooge! This isn't just about my leg anymore- it's about my own family! I've left them, and I'm _reminded_ of it every time I see their bright faces in the morning. Heck! I don't even have to do that! Just looking at this stupid robotic limb is enough to remind me just how much of a screw up I am! I failed as a mom, a pilot, and I just can't... I just don't _know_ anymore, Uncle Scrooge..."

Tried as he could to keep a straight face, Scrooge could not stop his expression from softening.

"Oh Della," he sighed as he put a hand on her shoulder, "It'll be alright. You're not meant to know everything, my dear. That's just how life goes- even in our family."

"What should I do?" Della finally asked. "I hate this feeling."

Scrooge tilted his head to the side as he thought something over. "I think I know someone you could see." he informed her. "Someone other than that annoying mooch that Donald sees."

"I guess you expect me to pay out of my own pocket, huh?"

Scrooge faltered for a moment before looking back up at her, a faint hint of determination in his eyes. "No." he decided. "I'll cover whatever cost it takes to make sure you get the care you need."

Della looked up at her distant uncle with tears forming around the corners of her eyes. Before she could even gather the words, she threw her arms around his neck in a tearful hug. The older duck paused for a moment before accepting the gesture.

. . .

The next day, Della was already starting to regret everything again. Scrooge had directed her to a physical therapy place that honestly looked like it was being operated out of someone's spare bedroom. The waiting room certainly felt that way, at least, with the ugly brown carpet, absolutely no windows, less than inspiring wallpaper with fleur-de-lis designs on it, those stupid and generic 'You can do it!' posters that Della thought mocked her just slightly.

Of course, she wouldn't even been here if she hadn't taken that stupid rocket for a joyride. Della flinched, her absent leg sending an absent signal to her brain that it needed be itched. It only served as a reminder. Now and forever, whenever that stupid amputated leg acted up, she'd be reminded of the ten years she couldn't get back. How she has to find her place in her own family again.

She didn't belong with her family, and she sure as heck didn't belong _here_.

"Are you my 3 o'clock?"

Della, snapping out of her thoughts, looked up at the person that talked. There is front of her was a toon dog with dark colored fur, sparkling green eyes, and an incredibly infectious smile.

"I guess so..." Della agreed with a small grumble. The physical therapist did not lose her bright attitude as she gestured for Della to follow her. But the duck hesitated. Her hesitation did not go unnoticed by the PT.

"If you're overwhelmed, that's okay." the dog lady told Della in a calm voice. "Today is all about getting to know you- all that awful stuff you hear about physical therapy will come later after we figure out your personal care plan. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be incredibly painful and frustrating. But you can bite the bullet any time you want to. Physical therapy is all about you and getting to know your body."

Della turned her gaze away from the physical therapist for a moment. She could bite the bullet at any time, you say? Scrooge might not like it, but who was he to dictate what she did with her own life? Besides, she was a Duck-McDuck, when one of them bit the bullet, they were expected to spit it back out and laugh.

And, oh boy, how did Della like to laugh.


End file.
